


Fun with Katanas!

by fritzvalentine



Category: Death Machine (1994)
Genre: Accidental Amputation, Everyone Is Alive, Gen, It's a Holiday Party fic!, post!canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:55:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28051248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fritzvalentine/pseuds/fritzvalentine
Summary: Holiday party shenanigans and a lil' spice!
Kudos: 2





	Fun with Katanas!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [karvolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/karvolf/gifts).



Raimi doesn’t notice the smell of burnt cookies until a plume of smoke trails from the oven. He fans the smoke away with his hands, pulling the oven open and using a dishtowel to pull the tray out. He sets it on the stovetop; the smoke stings his eyes so bad that he ducks behind his elbow, flailing wildly with his other hand until, again, the smoke is cleared.  
The cookies are fully black, more ash than food at this point, and Raimi makes the mistake of trying to grab one, quickly throwing it back on the tray with a betrayed yelp.  
“Fuck!” The cookie crumbles to pieces on impact, but Raimi won’t give up just yet. He juggles a few crumbs back and forth between his hands until the fresh-out-of-the-oven heat dissipates, then pops the charred treat into his mouth. He chews, turning to see Yutani leaning against the doorframe, katana in hand.  
“How is it?” Yutani asks. It’s nearly impossible to tell if Yutani is smirking because he’s carrying a weapon or because he's stifling a laugh, but, in this situation, Raimi is willing to bet on the latter.  
“Disgusting.” Raimi sputters in response, spitting in the sink. “What’s the katana for?” He watches as Yutani looks from him, to the katana, and back again.  
“For fun.” Yutani steps forward hesitantly, peering at the burnt cookies. “They’re shaped like dicks?” It's not a question, not really.  
“They were supposed to be…” Raimi mutters. The cookies, if you ignore the more pressing issue of their burnt-ness, look more like bloated fish than penises.  
“That’s not very Christmas-y…" Yutani pauses for a moment, then smirks— for real this time. “It’s probably for the best. I’m sure they would have been disgusting whether or not you burnt them.”  
“Hey!” Raimi shoves Yutani away, playfully, without regard for the ridiculously sharp katana in the other’s hand.  
“Careful dude!”  
Yutani has never understood Raimi's recklessness, though he frequently plays along. It seems Raimi has only become more thoughtless after narrowly surviving the encounter with the Warbeast. Unlike with Weyland and Yutani himself, Raimi's wounds were more mental than physical and the pair knows better than to ask about Raimi skipping his deprogramming psychotherapy appointments.  
“I don’t see you prepping for the party! At least I’m trying.” Raimi tries another bite of the cookie, forcing himself to chew even as the disgust creeps back onto his face.  
“I wouldn’t call it a party… It’s only four people? But also, I bought the booze, so stop complaining.” Yutani watches as Raimi’s face goes from smiling, to grimacing, to about-to-throw-up. “Stop eating them. You need to clean this up before Weyland gets home or he’ll have your head.”  
“It’s not my fault Weyland’s a freak,” Raimi mutters. “You’re not gonna help?”  
“Not a chance.”  
  
Hayden sits on the couch, sipping from the bottle of wine before passing it to Weyland. Weyland, Yutani, and Raimi are sitting in a semicircle on the ground, their backs turned to the TV where some shitty Christmas movie is playing. A cheap bottle of wine between four people isn’t enough to get anyone drunk, not really, but it’s enough to get Weyland to pull out his guitar.  
“Any requests?” He strokes the strings absently as Raimi scrambles away to grab another bottle.  
“Wonderwall!”  
“Shut up!”  
Weyland turns to Hayden, smirking as he plays a few random chords. “You’ve been quiet tonight, Hayden. Got a request?”  
“Hmm… do you know any Christmas songs?” It’s a boring request and Hayden knows it. Weyland looks down at his hands, thinking as he strums softly, and Yutani stifles a laugh. “Unfortunately… No.”  
“Oh, uh—” Hayden turns pink, either from secondhand embarrassment or the wine— probably both. “Wonderwall?”  
“Great choice, Cale!” Raimi near-shouts, sliding back into place on the floor. “C’mon Weyland! You heard the lady!” Yutani snatches the bottle of vodka out Raimi’s hand as Weyland reluctantly works his magic on the guitar. (It’s not that Weyland doesn’t know how to play Wonderwall— of course he does— it’s just a sucky song!)  
“Raimi, seriously?” Yutani laughs. “We’re not drinking this out of the bottle. Go get some juice or something.”  
Raimi returns to the kitchen, fixing a few cups of juice as Weyland grumbles his way through Wonderwall. He skips to the end of the song and fumbles through the final few chords as Raimi returns again, distributing cups.  
“Y’know, we might want to slow down with the drinking if we’re staying up till midnight…” Weyland mutters as Yutani blesses his cup with a generous amount of vodka.  
“Yeah, why are we doing that again?” Hayden asks, yawning into her palm as she tears her eyes away from the TV.  
“Raimi insists on—“  
“I can’t give you your present till Christmas!” Raimi grins.  
“Oh, that makes sense,” she says, sharing a glance with Weyland, “I guess?”  
“He’s big on holidays,” Weyland says with a shrug. “We should play some drinking games.”  
“Spin the bottle!”  
“No. Raimi, you’re not twelve years old.”  
“Fine, um, never have I ever?” Raimi waits for a moment and when his suggestion, for once, isn’t met with a chorus of groans, he continues. “I’ll start. Never have I ever burnt an entire tray of dick-shaped Christmas cookies.”  
“You just want to get drunk, idiot.”  
“Maybe so,” Raimi remarks with a grin and takes an exceptionally large sip of his drink, puffing out his cheeks dramatically. He points to his left: Yutani.  
“This is stupid.” Yutani looks down at his hands with a smirk. “Never have I ever… been hunted by a murderous robot.”  
“Jeez, dude.”  
“Take a drink, bitch.”  
Everyone drinks and the game continues until Weyland has been convinced to try his hand at another song. Raimi leans across the circle to whisper in Weyland’s ear, knocking his nearly-empty cup over onto the carpet. Weyland listens mock-intently, nodding along to Raimi’s drunk whisper-shouting.  
“Raimi, no. We’re not playing that stupid fucking knife game. You remember what happened last time.”  
Raimi huffs, wobbling as he sits back on his heels. “But you already know the song and I was hammered last time— I’m hardly even drunk now! Besides, Hayden knows first aid!”  
Weyland laughs. “Yutani, what do you think?” Everyone turns to Yutani, who is not paying attention in the slightest. He’s staring at the TV, eyebrows furrowed.  
“…What knife game?” Hayden interjects, looking to Weyland. It was awkward, having to be filled in on the jokes and traditions. She had never spent a holiday with… people she really cared about before. Weyland meets her inquisitive gaze with a smile.  
“Honestly, you’re better off knowing. It’s some stupid thing where you try to cut your fingers off—“  
“You try not to cut your fingers off!”  
“Oh,” Weyland quirks an eyebrow, “you must just be shit at it then.”  
Weyland looks back at Yutani when he feels a soft tap on his knee. It’s one of those tiny endearing things that they share— Yutani isn’t always good at inserting himself into conversations, especially when he’s drunk and dissociating. He points at the TV and Weyland follows his gaze.  
“He looks like Raimi,” Yutani mutters after a long moment.  
“Oh my god, you’re right! Raimi, that guy looks just like you…but like… older and also more buff.” Weyland agrees with a laugh.  
“Huh?” Raimi pours himself another drink before turning to look at the TV. “Which guy?”  
“Oh, wait, he’s gone.” They watch the movie for a few minutes, but eventually give up when the actor never reappears.  
“Lame!” Raimi refills Hayden's cup next, then passes it up to her on the couch. “I don’t need to see the dude anyways— I’m sure he was sexy as fuck! Anyways. Yutani. Knife game?”  
Yutani takes a long moment of pensive, lip-biting silence before responding with one word: “Katana.”  
“Katana??”  
"Katana!!” The pair scramble to their feet, katana-bound.  
Weyland sighs, “Don’t get blood on the carpet, idiots.”  
“We won’t!”  
“I won’t... He might.” Yutani amends, bowing his head slightly. “We’ll play in the bathroom. The tile will be easier to clean.”  
  
“He's not always this stupid,” Weyland says once he hears the bathroom door shut.  
“Which one?" Hayden asks with a laugh.  
“Both of them.” Weyland lugs himself to his feet, grabbing his guitar and stretching his legs before sitting next to Hayden on the couch.  
“You're the opposite— it surprises me that you guys are such good friends.”  
"Oh, me too,” Weyland murmurs. “Yutani and Raimi have known each other since their school years. I didn't meet them until they got into the eco-activism stuff…” He turns to look at Hayden, making himself comfortable on the couch. “So, what’s got you all quiet?"  
“Maybe I’m just a quiet person.”  
“Nah, I haven’t known you too long, but I know your signature snark. You haven't teased Raimi once all night! There’s something up… I mean, obviously you don't have to tell me, but why not?”  
Hayden fiddles with the hem of her loose fitting t-shirt, then looks up with a smile. “Play me a song and I’ll tell you— any song you want.”  
“Deal.” Weyland pushes his glasses up; having worn glasses for most of his life, he’s used to the motion, and he’s even more so now, after having adjusted to the way that his glasses slip down the smooth flesh of his scars. It’s frustrating, but he manages— just lucky he didn’t lose an eye. He fumbles with the strings as he comes up with a song; it’s a short one, allowing for only a minute or two of Weyland hesitantly plucking at the strings of his guitar and singing along in his gravely accent. It’s catchy but not too catchy.  
“What song was it? I didn’t recognize it,” Hayden asks after a tiny round of applause.   
“It’s… I wrote it. It doesn’t have a title.” Weyland tucks his hair behind his ears, just the few fringe-y pieces too short to reach the band of his low ponytail.  
“That’s impressive— it was good!”  
“Okay, now what’s up?”  
“Fine, asshole,” Hayden grumbles, trailing off. “I’d rather talk about your music than bother you with any of my stuff…”  
“I know. That’s why I’m making you tell me.” Weyland clarifies, smiling back innocently as Hayden shoots him a glare.  
“I’m just not used to spending holidays like this— not since the divorce anyways… maybe not even since I was a kid. It’s just weird, I guess. You guys know each other so well and I feel… well, I like the new kid at school, just trying to fit in.”  
Weyland hums softly, gently leaning his guitar against the arm of the couch. “You really don’t need to worry—“  
“OW, OW! FUCK!” Raimi’s shout is loud enough to wake up the neighbors, so it’s more than enough to break the emotional moment. Hayden is the first to jump up, Weyland following after, completely unable to wipe the smirk off of his face when he comes upon Raimi, teary eyed, with his hand wrapped in Yutani’s shirt.  
“The katana was a bad idea,” Yutani says. He absently rubs a hand over the bullet scar on his shoulder, already mourning his blood soaked t-shirt. Numerous other scars, jagged lines like lightning, litter his chest and abdomen.  
“No shit,” Weyland responds with a laugh, then sobers slightly when Yutani gives him a glassy look.  
“I will drive him to the hospital for stitches—“  
“Stitches?”  
“…Katana,” Hayden suggests with a soft smile, adequately answering Weyland’s question.  
“As if I could forget.” Weyland sighs. “Yutani, you’re drunk. I’m calling a cab.”  
“No, no, wait,” Raimi murmurs, “I’m fine! You don’t have to do that.” With the amount of blood on his makeshift bandage, things are clearly not okay. “It’s fucking Christmas. I don’t want to go to the hospital.”  
Hayden steps forward, reaching out for Raimi’s hand. He lets her see it without her even needing to ask and she gently unwraps the bandage. The sound she makes is somewhere between a laugh and a retch.  
“You’re a fucking idiot. Weyland, call a cab.”  
  
Hundreds of lawsuits and internal investigations mean a fuck ton of paperwork… maybe not enough paperwork to justify working through the night on Christmas Eve, but a ton nonetheless.  
After the incident with Dante and his… unfortunate invention, John had seriously considered just quitting, maybe even adding a lawsuit of his own to the growing pile. The job just wasn’t worth it anymore— maybe it never was. He had wanted to quit, but he wasn’t going to leave Scott behind to clean up the mess on his own. John only slightly regrets this decision as he huffs his way up flight after flight of stairs. It’s one of his main annoyances, but at least he no longer has to accomplish the same feat with a pair of crutches tucked into his armpits. The elevator is a no-go for obvious reasons.  
He pauses for a moment at the end of the hallway, shifting his grasp on the shoddily wrapped box in his hands. Scott probably wouldn’t even like the gift, but that was okay— it wasn’t really the point. After working alongside Scott for years, John has learned to consider him a friend, albeit a bad one. Scott doesn’t need a gift; he needs the subtle reminder that others care about him. John’s knock on Scott’s office door is met with a rustling of papers and a muffled: “John?”  
“Yeah, it’s me.” John opens the door. Scott doesn’t look up, clutching at his opposite wrist as he struggles with his notes. John moves to sit down, setting the present down on Scott’s desk. Scott’s hair is shaggier than it used to be; John is sure he would find it cute if it wasn’t also a measure of the workaholic’s dwindling sanity.  
“…You got me a gift,” Scott says, finally. Confused. “I didn’t get you anything.”  
“That’s okay.”  
Scott looks at the gift like it’s a puzzle— it’s really not— and John wonders how long it’s been since Scott has taken a break from work. They’re both overworked, almost chronically so, but Scott in particular has been pushing himself too hard, not giving himself the time he needs to recover. What happened wasn’t Scott’s fault. There was nothing he could have done.  
“I’d like to watch you open it… if you have time?” Scott simply nods, reluctant to take a break despite the open invitation. He reaches for the gift and unwraps it with shaky hands. It’s a silly gift— a novelty mug with a badly edited cat collage printed on it— but it accomplishes its purpose. Scott smiles.  
If John is being completely honest, the gift was just as much for himself as it was for Scott. Holiday traditions have a way of making the shit-show of life slow down and the familiarity is a treasure.  
He stays in Scott’s office until the man finally sets his work down for the night. They leave together.

**Author's Note:**

> Woah, Fritz wrote something that's not horror!


End file.
